


Cheating

by lenayuri



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Kissing, Canon Het Relationship, Character Death, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mild Language, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenayuri/pseuds/lenayuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock wants to fix it, it is already too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theonemaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonemaye/gifts).
  * A translation of [Trampa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380982) by [lenayuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenayuri/pseuds/lenayuri). 



> First of all, this isn't a bashing!Mary. When I wrote it I had not even seen the 3rd season, just the trailer - hence I only take the wedding as something canon. _My Mary_ is nothing like the 'Mary' of the series. So don't come to me with flames, offenses or complaints because I'll ignore you. 
> 
> Most importantly, many thanks to my T'hy'la for translating my fanfic ("Trampa") as a birthday present for me. You're awesome, love! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and don't forget leave a review or kudo or whatever~! c:

"How long are you going to continue this farce, brother?" Mycroft's calm voice fills the room.

"Keep your voice down," Sherlock mutters, sinking deeper into his armchair while his brother observes him from John's. "He could hear you."

"Who? John? The one you have been deceiving all this time? As if you ca-" Mycroft stops talking, he observes his brother with genuine surprise and a grin appears on his face as he spins his brolly "I can't believe it!" He mocks. "Really, Sherlock?"

Sherlock buries his face between his own legs, which are folded against his chest as if he was a child. He knows that his brother doesn't understands him, that he doesn't understand the magnitude of it all. Even himself, with all his intellect and abilities, finds difficult to understand exactly when it happened. "Yes," he replies with a quivering voice.

"I see," the older one sympathizes, getting up from the sofa and placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I hope all ends well, Sherlock."

"So do I."

The man leaves 221B with a pitiful look on his face upon seeing his brother in such a predicament and not being able to do anything for him. Because one cannot rule over the heart.

.

_A year and a half earlier_

Sherlock's return happens totally different from what he had planned. The detective meets everyone he knows and let John for last. It is a shocking surprise to find out that his friend has moved on - he even has a mustache! - and Sherlock meets John's wife. A regular woman like any other, but the first one not to be intimidated by him. Sherlock doesn't know why, but even though Mary is nice, something stings, something hurts him inside when he sees them together.

Perhaps... No! Thedetective dismiss the thought as soon as it appears in his mind. It is nothing and it will be nothing. Of course, they say that loose lips sink ships.

John and his married life results in him leaving Baker Street. "This is not appropriate for Mary," is what he says when Sherlock asks him. "Don't worry, Sherlock, I'll come and visit you often," and he smiles. But something within Sherlock tells him that nothing will ever be as it used to be.

Hunting bandits and criminals is not the same without his blogger, and Sherlock feels his absence with each passing day. It's not like when he was dead, this time it's more real. Because he knows that there will be no laughter by some comment made at the crime scene upon returning to the 221B, or complaints because the detective has not eaten. No more John's tea, nor can he peek over John's shoulder whatever he is writing on his blog. His life took a 180 degree turn and he doesn't know till when it will be like this.

Although he doesn't have to wait long.

Three months after his return, with his life falling apart unknowingly, with John accompanying him or visiting him a few times a month, comes the nightmare.

The Watson marriage is kidnapped and there are no leads about the possible perpetrator. Sherlock takes it personal.

The detective goes with Lestrade to John's home, where he moves and seeks, analyzes and deduces the possible scenarios.

 _Backdoor forced: the kidnapper was already expecting them. The table was set: they were going to start dinner. Chairs overturned and wine on the cloth and on the floor: took them by surprise. Blood on the wall: probable fight between John and the stranger. Pearl beads scattered around the room: a second criminal took Mary as hostage to subdue John. They beat him..._ The images crossing through the detective's mind are confusing, as never before has happened.

Lestrade notices it and asks if he's okay, to which the other man replies that this is personal. The DI is surprised by his words, but says nothing. He understands, is also personal for him.

But before turning around, Sherlock notices a clue underneath the sofa. He lift it with the DI's help and finds a little note in John's handwriting. "Oh," is all he whispers, noticing that John has learned something in all their years together.

The clue is inconclusive - some of the words are blurred because of the wine, but he understands a few - and there is a twisted flower drawn quickly. Then words took meaning and Sherlock boils inside.

This is revenge. Damn.

Sherlock's running against the clock because if he is right - and he always is - John and Mary are in mortal danger.

The detective contacts his homeless network, collects data as fast as he can and finds out that there has been some strange movements in an abandoned warehouse in south London. Sherlock rushes, texting Greg for possible police assistance - not for him, but for John's safety.

Upon arriving, Sherlock enters quietly, after all he is not armed and if he is right, they will be waiting for him. He only needs to distract them until Lestrade gets there - and for the first time in his life, he puts himself in the hands of the DI.

There's someone sitting at the center, but has his head covered. The clothes are too loose as to differentiate between a man and a woman; Sherlock approaches slowly, measuring the atmosphere, aware of every sound. He steps forward, removes the hood and-

"Hello Sherlock," the voice and unmistakable grin of James Moriarty greets him from the chair. "What? Oh... don't make that face, Sherly," he scoffs, "You didn't want to see me? Aww, so sad ... and I thought you missed me."

Sherlock recovers immediately after hearing Jim's voice. "Where are they?" He demands.

"Who?"

"Don't mess with me, where are John and Mary?"

"Oh! Don't be such a killjoy, dear. They're fine, you know? They have a lovely view from where they are," his smile is unhinged, he doesn't seem to be the same criminal that Sherlock chased all those years ago, he is... different. "You should know that Johnny's been a bad boy, he bit me! Can you believe it? I think his wife doesn't feed him very well."

James looks disoriented, inconsistent, sick - more than usual - and Sherlock knows he cannot negotiate or engage in a conversation to distract him so easily. He opts to agree with him.

"I agree," and the man's expression changes completely.

"You are not Sherlock Holmes!" He screams, and that's when Sherlock notices that he is also tied up. A trap. A damn trap and he walked into it.

James shouts and mutters unintelligible words. Sherlock doesn't know and he doesn't want to know the circumstances encompassing the resurrection of the criminal nor what happened afterwards, he only wants to know where are John and Mary.

A woman's voice breaks the silence.

"Good evening, detective."

Sherlock looks around. The source of the voice is right above him. "Anthea?"

"Before you ask, no, this is not your brother's doing," the young woman doesn't pay attention to him, much more interested in her phone than in anyhuman being there "Surprised?"

Sherlock knows better than to waste any more time, but there is no sign of the Scotland Yard and he has no fucking idea where John and his wife are being kept. "I must give you credit, Anthea. All those years working with my brother and I never suspected."

"Understandable."

The woman descends calmly, slowly, as if this was just a game, nothing more.

"Why now?" The detective asks when the woman stands behind James, who is still immersed in his mumbling.

"Wrong question."

"For what reason?" He observes a small grin on the woman's mouth and he knows that he guessed right "Who?"

"Sebastian," Sherlock remembers him. Moriarty's right hand, whom he chased for more than year and a half around the entire European continent, until ending his life in America.

"I see," he feels a movement near his foot and glances at James, and he knows. _Wait the signal_ , that's what the man is trying to say. Sherlock is both impressed and curious. He decides to wait. "So… Lover?" Another slight spasm in her gives Sherlock the cue to continue. "You disappoint me, you know?" He says, bluffing. "All those years spying on my brother, on the royal crown, on London, you almost had it all in your hands and you are mourning the loss of your lover," she stops using her phone and looks at him fiercely. "Oh, sorry."

"You bastard," she says, bitterly.

"So what? The whole thing was a charade? A mask? Are you yet another one who thinks she can win against London? Because I doubt you've done anything at all apart of fooling around with the right people."

"You know nothing, you're a liar."

"You forget who I am, right, Anthea?"

"I tricked you, you're nothing but a fool."

"Of course not, dear. It was you who fell into her own deception. You think my brother didn't know? Do you think he hasn't followed your steps since you were hired? Don't be naive." The detective is bragging, he knows that's the best thing to do in these cases. Because, although the woman believes she knows everything, she knows nothing. She was just a pawn in someone else's game, and apparently the mind behind it all is dead.

"You're lying."

"You wanna bet?" He feels a tap on his foot and he knows that's the signal.

The next thing he knows is that James has a gun against the woman's head, who wasn't paying enough attention. James smiles different from before, not in an insane manner.

"Go," he commands. "Everything is on her phone."

"Why?" The question comes from Sherlock's mouth inadvertently.

"Why do people do crazy things, huh, Sherlock? The answer is obvious, even for you," he smiles gloomily and turns his attention to the detective. "Get out!" He shouts and then handcuffs one of his hands to one of hers, smiling. "Let's sit down, dearie, to watch the fireworks."

A minute later there is an explosion in the hold. No survivors.

Sherlock doesn't stop to investigate, because there's a countdown on the phone, and two addresses.

The youngest of the Holmes runs through the deserted streets of London, with the sole goal of reaching one of the addresses. He texts the other one to Greg.

He is close. Time is running out, less than two minutes, and he gets there. Sherlock opens the door to find...

"Mary," the woman has watery eyes and a gag in her mouth. The detective takes it off and proceeds to open the handcuffs when the voice of his friend's wife interrupts him.

"No," she gasps. "Save... him."

"But-"

"Save him!"

There is a second door. John is there.

The other address is a trap.

John is unconscious.

Less than a minute and Sherlock pulls John out with difficulty, apologizing to Mary with a look. She nods with tears in her eyes, shouting "Take care of him, Sherlock!"

Time runs out.

.

John underwent surgery due to a stab wound in his abdomen. He falls into a coma immediately after.

His recovery is slow.

The doctors tell Sherlock that his friend - or his mind - could have gone into a coma as a result of the pain he suffered. Fortunately, the wound didn't touch any vital organs, but he lost a lot of blood. They expect him to wake up within a week.

Mrs. Hudson says he may have gone into a coma because of his wife's loss. Greg doesn't know what to say but he informs Sherlock that both bodies were found in the cellar and that they are being processed for further identification. Mycroft doesn't know how to apologize for his slip and Molly can't stop crying. Sherlock, regardless of everything involving the case, just wishes John to wakes up.

And he does. Two weeks later, John wakes up.

But there is a problem.

"What do you mean he doesn't remember?" Greg demands.

"It can be a defensive measure of his own mind. Sometimes, patients who have endured a trauma so strong and painful like this one encapsulate those memories, hiding them, and leaving only the 'good times'. For example, Mr. Watson remembers who he is and who you are, but no more. He knows, thanks to the wedding ring on his bedside table, that he is married-"

"- with me," Sherlock interrupts. He has stayed silent through all the useless explanation.

.

Yes, John wakes up, and the first thing he sees is Sherlock asleep beside his bed. The detective feels glad to hear his name in John's voice, but is surprised by what follows "Why am I in the hospital, love?"

Sherlock doesn't take long to notice something is wrong. He calls the doctor, who comes quickly and asks him to leave. John shouts and demands them to let his husband stay with him in the room. The impact of John's words leaves Sherlock in shock, and he just waits. And then comes the doctor's explanation.

.

"What can we do, doctor?" Asks Mrs. Hudson, hugging Molly, both with tearful eyes.

"For his own sake, we'll have to wait until his mind heals itself, and until he starts to slowly remember. At the moment, it is best not to upset him. Not say anything about the incident, and play along. Mr. Holmes-"

"I know," the detective replies.

"Mr. Holmes, it is not obligatory for you to do this-"

"I made a promise," _and I want to_ , he completes in his mind. The doctor nods and gives them directions.

Their lives change thereafter.

.

Mycroft uses his influences to relocate John's possessions from his old house to Baker Street, and to leave the flat as if it were a couple's home. The politician sends warning looks on his brother's direction, which he chooses to ignore.

And his life with John changes radically. Sherlock is selfish, a liar, the worst scum of the earth for deceiving John in such a way.

The original idea was just living together and wait for John to remember his life before the incident. But over the weeks, Sherlock cannot hold that sea of _something_ inside him, and he leans over to kiss John as he reads the newspaper. The result? Regular contact between them.

Not only kisses, but hugs and cuddles too. Sherlock wants to absorb everything he can because he knows that once John remember, he will repudiate him and will walk away from him for lying and for not saving Mary.

Two months later, Sherlock realizes that _something_ is what they call love, and he feels even worse for deceiving his friend. But he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to say goodbye to that warmth that fills his chest every morning he wakes up with John in his arms, when he gets a good morning kiss or a good night kiss, when he endeavors to eat breakfast with John, when he makes John his tea and toast with his favorite flavor of jam, when he has romantic gestures with John that before him Sherlock would have thought were unnecessary.

Sherlock doesn't want to lose the warmth of John's kisses, his touches, his hugs, his words. He just doesn't want to lose this.

One morning, however, as Sherlock takes a shower and thinks and reviews data from an ongoing case, the bathroom door opens and John walks into the shower with him. He refuses, telling John that it is too soon and that it could be counterproductive for his wounds - which healed long ago - but at that moment his mind is more interested in John's naked body. The doctor ignores Sherlock and kisses him, causing him to totally disconnect from all reason.

It was the first time they made love.

And it was both the worst and best day of Sherlock's life.

Sherlock decided to definitively condemn himself that day.

.

Sherlock is in the same position since his brother left and doesn't hear the door.

"Sherlock," John's voice, his cheerful, warm voice comes to his ears. "You okay?"

The detective doesn't reply. Lost in thought he knows that what he has done is an abomination, he knows he must end with all that... even though it will bring his own misery.

"John," he calls.

"Yes?" John answers from the kitchen, putting away whatever it is that he bought.

"I have to tell you something," John stops and approaches his _husband_.

"Are you feeling alright? Because you don't look very good," he brings his hand to Sherlock's forehead, who stops him.

"No, John. Please."

"Are you sure you're okay? You're not being yourself," John sits in his armchair and approaches Sherlock. "Something happened at the Yard?"

"No."

"With Anderson?"

"No."

"Mmm... with-?"

"Stop it, John! I'm fine, nothing happened... is just... that I'm an arsehole, a bastard who doesn't even deserves for you to see him," he shouts, raising his arms forcefully, looking extremely mortified.

"Sherlock?"

"Listen to me very carefully, John, because I don't want to lie to you anymore," he says, straightening up and taking John by the shoulders. "We're not married. You're not even gay! Your wife's name was Mary, she died John, I let her die to save you! Moriarty... No! Anthea set us up, she kidnapped you and your wife, she tricked me, she deceived my brother, and James, and everyone! It was a stupid trap and I fell right into it, and if I hadn't wasted so much time with her, I could have saved Mary, but I didn't! And you know what else? I took advantage of the situation. You didn't remember anything from her, and what did I do? I pretended to be your husband for the whole year, John! This lie has grown too much! I can't stand it anymore. You deserve to know the truth, and now you're free to murder me, or hate me, you can do whatever you want to punish me for being a liar. I'm sorry, John."

Sherlock looks down, unable to meet John's eyes.

The silence and the tension of the moment are very palpable, and Sherlock waits.

He waits for John's explosion, the screams, the accusations, the pounding... but he never expected to feel John's arms wrapping his body.

"John?"

"Shh," John shushes him, stroking his back with up-down movements of his hand. "I knew."

"You-"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Remember when we made love for the first time?"

"Yes," the detective feels his throat closing, but he manages to respond.

"That morning I woke up and you weren't there, I heard the water and imagined you were taking a shower. I was pulling out clothes from the closet and inside one of my coats I found a photograph," John stops talking, moving the detective away in order to look into his eyes. "It was a photograph of my wedding with Mary, with you as my best man, Sherlock."

"I'm sorry."

"The memories came to my mind like a movie, so fast and so confusing that gave me a headache for a few minutes," the doctor frowns a little and continues, "I must confess that at first I was about to go out and punch you, accuse you and practically commit homicide," he laughs a little, his gaze softens and he strokes Sherlock's hair. "But I couldn't, Sherlock. Can you imagine why?" The detective shakes his head, and John forces him to look into his eyes. "Having overcome the anger of knowing that I was deceived by my best friend, I realized that I really didn't mind what you had done. Yes, I felt devastated by Mary's death, one of the two people I love most in the world, but here I was, with another chance to be happy by the side of the other person I love most in the world. Who am I to say no to that? And I know you feel the same, don't try to deny it."

"I wasn't going to-"

"I know," John puts his forehead against Sherlock's. "I suspected it before, I knew for sure that day."

"The what?"

"I'm in love with you, Sherlock."

"But-"

"Aren't you?"

"But, Mary-"

"Answer me, Sherlock."

John observes Sherlock's eyes and it is really true what they say, the eyes are the windows of the soul. Everything is as clear as water.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm sorry, John."

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Forgive me for not saving her."

"It's over, Sherlock."

"I'm sorry."

"If you apologize one more time, it will be your turn to clean up the flat," Sherlock feels intoxicated with John's warm smiles and he knows that there is nothing to forgive. The detective replies smiling and closes his eyes, letting himself being wrap again by John's arms. "Sherlock?"

"Uhm?"

"I'm hungry. Takeaway?"

"No, let's go to Angelo's."

"All right."

John wipes some naughty little tears from Sherlock's face and kisses his lips. They take their coats and go out to wait for a cab.

And upstairs, from the living room window of the 221B, a light silhouette observes the two men get into the car; it looks like it's smiling to them. " _Thank you very much, Sherlock,_ " it seems to whisper, and then vanish.


End file.
